


You're Never Too Old

by kronette



Series: In Bed [3]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Back to Earth, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Kink, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after "Two's Company." Kryten dotes on Lister and Rimmer as they recover from their wild night together. Rimmer plans a surprise or two for Lister, as that's what boyfriends do.</p><p>SPOILERS: Not really for <i>Back to Earth</i> and Series X, but I am basing this series off of what we've seen up to "Dear Dave." I like the boys a little more mature; a little more chummy. And in this case, a lot more naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Never Too Old

Rimmer was dragged out of sleep by painful throbs all over his body. After regulating his breathing so as not to disturb Lister, he cataloged the aches and realized they were caused by their reckless bouts of sex hours before. Smeg. He couldn't let Lister know he was hurting or else he'd never give in to wild abandon again.

He opened his eyes to find Lister staring at him, lines of pain etched into his face. "You, too?" Lister moaned.

Rimmer gave a mirthless chuckle. "You'd think we were too old for sex. Ow," he whined as he tried to move a leg and aggravated the muscles in his thigh.

"Just out-of-control, life-affirming, mind-blowing, enthusiastic sex," Lister lamented as he rubbed his lower back and winced.

"They're just overworked muscles, Listy," he lied, feeling hand-shaped imprints on his hips, the throb of at least two hickeys on his neck, and four distinct half-moons of pain on his shoulder where Lister's fingers had dug deep for an anchor.

A quick inventory of Lister revealed a string of dark marks along his shoulder; Rimmer vaguely recalled sucking that line to see if his skin varied in taste. It hadn't, but Lister had made no objections to the experiment. Rimmer didn't see any outward signs of distress, but Lister was clearly in pain as he rubbed his hand on his abdomen.

"I think I pulled something, Rimmer," Lister said desperately. "Something really, really important to me."

Rimmer's gaze flicked from Lister's face to his hand and his heart began to pound. "It's rather important to me, too. We should call Kryten," he suggested, knowing what the answer would be.

Lister hesitated; he could see indecision warring with pain, but to his surprise, Lister nodded. "Yeah, call him. Maybe we need to go medi bay."

"We don't need medi bay," he scoffed, forcing himself to sit up. The screaming pain in his lower back, hips and general arse area belied his words. "I'll have Kryten set us up massages in the AR. Warming the muscles and relaxing them will keep them from tightening further and doing serious injury. Alternating cold and warm compress throughout the day, and a few dozen aspirin should do. We should start with a very warm shower."

Lister's sudden grip on his arm startled him. The pain lines were nearly gone; his lover's expression was now worried and a bit fearful. "How badly did I hurt you, Rimmer? You're sweating."

"I'm indestructible, remember?" he said through gritted teeth. "Nothing you do to me can ever hurt me."

"You're hurting _now_ ," Lister stated loudly. "Smeg, Rimmer. I shouldn't have listened to you."

Despite the aches and strained muscles, Rimmer found himself snorting. "First time for everything. I'm more worried about you. Where's the worst of it?" He indicated Lister's hips, and with an averted gaze, Lister ran his hand from his lower back, around his hip, to his abdomen and down his thigh.

After an appreciative visual appraisal, Rimmer shook his head. "No wonder. You were going faster and more powerful than a finely tuned jet engine, Listy." He licked his lips and Lister groaned piteously.

"Don't, Rimmer. Don't get me started. I _can't_ , you hear me?" His protest wasn't as strong as it could have been, Rimmer was pleased to note.

Rimmer took pity on him and looked around the room, trying to locate their clothing. He spied Lister's underwear hanging from the potted plant, but his was more than likely tangled in his trousers, which were under the table. He sighed. He'd compromised a lot since they'd started having sex; sleeping in the nude was the second biggest challenge he'd overcome. At least his robe was hanging from the edge of the upper bunk. He snagged it with only a slight groan and slipped it on. "I'll get your underwear and then Kryten, so he can help get you into the shower."

He froze in his attempt to get out of bed as he heard Lister say, "I love you, you overprotective smeghead."

Heat burnished his cheeks. "Yes, well, someone has to watch your arse."

There was an odd note to Lister's voice as he replied, "Only you."

=-=-=-=-=

Kryten's orders of bed rest and enough pain medication to down a large hippo seemed to suit Lister just fine, but Rimmer was increasingly frustrated with their close confines. Six to eight hours of sleep in a cramped bunk were one thing; three days of being crammed in next to Lister were driving him barmy.

"Watch your elbow," he snapped as Lister jostled him in the shoulder _again_.

"Excuse me for reading," Lister fired back at him, his tone annoyed.

Shockingly, Lister had taken the enforced rest to heart and was onto his second book without pictures. His progress was staggering, considering he'd began reading children's starter books a few weeks ago.

Rimmer, however, had more pressing matters than Lister's reading comprehension level. His aches weren't dulled by the meds or the hot compress, and he was terrified to say a word about it. If Lister knew he was still sore, they'd never have sex again, and he'd grown rather attached to sex with Lister.

His anxiety and fear were overshadowed only by his guilt. Whenever Lister was in the shower or down in the AR suite for a massage, he'd switched to soft light to relieve the constant tension. Soft light eliminated all stimuli, but when Rimmer switched back to hard light, the pain was that much more debilitating. He'd even switched to soft light while Lister was asleep the previous night, despite the heightened anxiety of what Lister would do if he'd known.

Gingerly Rimmer sat up, keeping his face turned away from Lister to hide his discomfort. He settled back against the wall with their shoulders touching. "Sorry for being such a smeghead," he muttered.

Without pause to his reading, Lister's left hand located his right and gave it a squeeze. "Watch your language. You're talking about the smeghead I happen to be in love with."

Warmth spread throughout Rimmer, curling his toes yet leaving him disoriented. "Er, yes," he stammered, not comfortable enough in their relationship to know how to respond, or even if he was supposed to.

Guilt and pain continued to eat away at him, distracting him from the stillness that descended over them both.

He startled as Lister abandoned the book and turned to him with downcast eyes. "I'm sorry, too. I know this has been a big change for you, being with me and all. You didn't even want to keep these smaller bunks. I shouldn't have snapped."

Overpowering guilt caused him to start hyperventilating. He'd made Lister feel bad and _he_ was the one lying! He stammered, "I'm the one who should be apologizing. You've done nothing wrong."

There was no recrimination in Lister's tone or look as he asked, "Are you saying you have?"

Anxiety weighed so heavily on Rimmer' chest that he could barely breathe. "I've been switching to soft light because I'm still sore," he admitted in a small voice. "The meds aren't working, but at least in soft light, I can't feel anything. I don't know what else to do. I'm scared, Lister."

He assumed Lister's silence was building to a shouting match, but his lover merely sighed in resignation. "Why couldn't you just talk to me, Rimmer? Me and Kryten might have been able to help. You didn't have to go through this alone." Lister's hand tightened around his. "You can share things with me, you know. That's what being in a relationship means."

He gnawed on his lower lip, staring down at the far end of their bunk. "I was afraid that if I'd told you I was still in pain, you wouldn't want to have sex with me again," he finally said. "I couldn't bear that. I loved how out-of-control you were; that _I_ did that to you. If I have to suffer for a few days to have that again, I'll do it gladly." He dared a glance at Lister. "I can't give you up, Listy. Not when I've just found you."

Lister closed his eyes and shook his head, his tone so full of affection that Rimmer knew he'd been forgiven: "You daft smeghead." He felt his cheeks redden as Lister kissed his temple. "When Kryten brings dinner, we'll tell him what you're feeling and see if he knows of other treatments you can try."

He slowly slipped down the bed until he could rest his head on Lister's shoulder, too embarrassed to look at him. "Read to me?" he asked to distract himself from his own stupidity. He let the sound of Lister's voice lull him to sleep, the first uninterrupted sleep he'd had in days.

The next morning, a halting, excruciatingly embarrassing conversation with Kryten and a consult with the medi bot gave Rimmer the relief he'd been seeking. He and Lister were back to their normal routine by the end of the week – minus the overly strenuous, life-affirming sex.

Without asking, Lister had taken to reading to him in bed before they curled around each other in sleep. Sometimes Rimmer took a turn reading to his lover, but Lister quickly grew bored with the history of military strategies and campaigns.

As Lister tucked himself into his side after marking his place in his latest book, Rimmer said, "I haven't said it outright, or even implied it, really, but I'm proud of you."

"Was I able to match my socks again?" Lister teased, giving Rimmer's nipple a pinch.

Rimmer squirmed and found a bit of flesh to squeeze at Lister's waist, causing his lover to squeak. "I'm being serious. You're getting on really well in your reading. Cat doesn't notice and Kryten fusses all the time, but you should hear it from me, too." He kissed Lister's temple. "I'm very proud of you, Listy."

"Shut it," Lister grumbled, clearly embarrassed.

"No. We should celebrate," he insisted. "I haven't been a proper boyfriend to you, and it's time I start. Will you have dinner with me Friday night?"

Lister leaned up on his elbow, staring down at him in amused shock. "What's this about a proper boyfriend?"

Rimmer flushed. After the horror of explaining to Kryten 'where it hurt', he and Lister had had a long talk about relationships, and he'd gotten a lot of things sorted. At least, he'd thought he had.

"Rimmer, there's a lot proper about you, but you're hardly my boyfriend." Before he could panic, Lister cupped his face and gave him a kiss that sent warmth through every part of him. "You mean far more to me than that."

He felt a blush creeping along his chest and neck. "I don’t know how else to say it other than 'I love you', but I do. So much." He gazed at Lister's eyes now shining with happiness and mischief, and desire began to pool low in his gut. "Let me show you Friday night. I promise: no hearts or flowers, but you will need to dress up."

Lister's cheeky grin disheartened him. "What, a stain-free shirt? I don't know that I own one."

Deflated at the mockery of his intentions, Rimmer physically and mentally withdrew, presenting his back to Lister as he gripped the edge of the bunk. "Forget it," he stated in a clipped tone. "It was a stupid idea. Men don't need romance."

He stiffened as Lister touched his shoulder, his body screaming _back off_ as loud as he could make it. Of course, the smegger ignored his wishes and began stroking fingertips along his arm. As if he would cave that easily.

"Arnold, love, I'm sorry. You know I'm not all sophisticated and proper like you." Rimmer shivered as Lister's hand slid down his side to curve around his stomach. "I like a joke, but I don't always know the right time or place, you know?"

Lister was now spooned up tight against his back, fingers splayed low across his abdomen, sending frissons of pleasure spiking along Rimmer's nerves. He shuddered as Lister pressed a kiss behind his ear, then moaned softly as his tongue left a wet trail along the side of his neck. "I'm still learning this, too. I'm used to doing the wining and dining, not being the one seduced."

Rimmer buried his face in the pillow as he let out a strangled laugh. "You're seducing me right now, you arse. I'm supposed to be mad at you for making fun of my attempt to put romance in our relationship."

The playful touches stopped and a gentle, apologetic kiss was pressed to his shoulder. "I know," Lister said quietly, "And I am sorry for being such a git about it. I'd love to have dinner with you Friday night, and I'll wear whatever you want me to without complaint."

The heat of Lister's semi-hard cock trapped against his lower back was distracting him. "I want a suit," he demanded shakily, the medi bot's warnings of further injury running nonstop in his head. He was just recovered, but if Lister pushed one more button, Rimmer was liable to chuck it all out an airlock and demand that Lister fuck him through the mattress.

"I'll talk to Cat first thing," Lister promised, his breath ghosting along the back of Rimmer's neck.

Barely hanging onto sanity, Rimmer grabbed Lister's hand on his abdomen and slid it downward. "Black tuxedo with a black bow tie, not a clip-on," he amended as their hands curled around his erection. He moaned and tilted his head back, angling it so he could kiss Lister properly.

"Anything you want," Lister murmured against his lips.

Rimmer set a slow pace, enjoying the build-up of tension. Not that he had any complaints about Lister's skills in bed – far from it, but his lover was exuberant to the point of dripping wet exhaustion. Now, Lister's normally machine-precise thrusts were subdued to languid rolls of his hips, a perfect double-team on Rimmer's senses. Time stretched to infinity as together they teased and stroked him to climax, the effect almost as powerful as the first time Lister penetrated him.

As Rimmer shuddered through the last of his climax, he felt Lister stiffen behind him. A shocked, strained, "Smeg," was accompanied by warm wetness on his back.

Glowing post-coital satisfaction had Rimmer breathlessly adding one more requirement, "Tux with tails."

"Tails; feathers; I'll find a smegging top hat and do a tap dance if you want," Lister groaned into his back.

"Promises, promises," Rimmer muttered, mouth curving in a smug smile.

=-=-=-=-=

Rimmer was a nervous wreck by the time 7:30 Friday night came round. Lister had been secretive about his clothing choice, so Rimmer didn't know if he'd gone with a simple suit or the full-on tuxedo with tails. He'd tried to get information out of Cat, but Cat was adamant on not spoiling the surprise.

Left to his own devices, Rimmer scoured the quarters of crew who were his size, looking for the perfect outfit. A holographic suit would not do – he wanted the satisfaction of having Lister undress him after dinner. He found a basic black suit that fit well, and a patterned silk vest and tie, both near to the blue of his every day tunic. He had plenty of dress shirts and his shoes were always spit-shine perfect. There weren't any real flowers for his buttonhole, but he found a red satin rose that did the trick.

At least Cat had a legitimate excuse for not helping him; Kryten either avoided him or misdirected his inquiries for advice. In fact, Kryten had been no help at all for anything Rimmer had asked of him for Friday. When he'd asked Kryten if he would be willing to prepare the meal, he'd received the flippant excuse, "I'll be washing my hair that evening, sir."

So rather than the four course meal he'd wanted to serve, Rimmer was forced to go through ship's stores and select something he knew he could prepare without smegging it up. It wasn't as grand as his original plan, but the pot roast had turned out beautifully and even tasted good. Simple vegetables simmered in the roast juices, and he'd managed a dessert – of sorts.

He was bristling with nerves when he heard the lift, but even steeling himself for Lister's entrance wasn't enough: the man had obviously taken everything Cat said to heart.

Black tuxedo with satin lapels, deep red vest, crisp white shirt, a real bow tie, kerchief and a lapel pin. He'd even found real shoes, polished to a high shine.

Rimmer's mouth opened a few times, but he couldn't form a word – any word. He could feel his brain cells sparking and dying as he soaked in the image of Lister looking nothing at all like Lister, yet somehow _more_ like Lister.

"It's okay, then?" Lister replied, his voice cracking. It wasn't until then that Rimmer noticed how nervous his lover was; how his hands were twisting together in front of him.

"Fuck me," he breathed, unable to stop staring. He knew Lister could clean up if he put some effort into it, but he'd no idea that Lister cleaned up _that well_. He was edible; pure sex on legs.

"Oh, no, me first," Lister insisted quietly as Rimmer got a head-to-toe visual inspection, then toe-to-head. "Arnold, man, that is _devastating_."

Rimmer licked his lips as his body started tingling with anticipation of the night ahead. He had set a table in the middle of _Parrot's_ , pushing the immediate tables a distance away. It was hard to give a feeling of intimacy in such a large space, but it was equally hard to fill such a large space with only two people. He'd agonized for an hour getting it just right. A single taper candle was lit to one side, and as promised, no hearts or flowers – aside from his buttonhole – were present. He cleared his throat and smiled. "Ready, Listy?"

Lister wiped his mouth, his gaze still roaming over Rimmer's body. "You expect me to eat food with you looking like that? I’m hardly a saint, here."

Rimmer's eyes twinkled. "You're going to need your strength, David. Now sit."

At the mention of his given name, Lister visibly shuddered. Rimmer cocked an eyebrow and filed that away for later.

They tucked into the main course, though the way Lister was sucking on his fingers was more pornographic than hygienic. Rimmer wasn't exactly saintly, either, taking care to pull the fork through his closed lips and making small, pleased noises when Lister was looking. They'd managed to keep touching to a minimum; by some unspoken agreement choosing visual stimuli to excite and tease.

Lister eventually leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. "Arnold, that was amazing. Just like my gran's Sunday dinners."

Anticipation was thrumming along Rimmer's nerves. "I hope I don't remind you of your gran," he teased.

Desire flared hot and bright in Lister's eyes. "Not a chance."

Rimmer eyed him suspiciously as Lister reached over and took his hand, pulling him to his feet. "What are you doing?" he asked nervously as Lister's fingers splayed along lower back, hugging him close.

"After a meal like that, there should be dancing." Lister started to move, but Rimmer's feet remained frozen to the floor.

At Lister's confused gaze, he stated flatly, "I don't dance."

He narrowed his eyes at Lister's soft chuckle. "Everyone dances."

Rimmer made to pull away, but Lister's arm tightened around his back. " _I_ don't," he repeated harshly. His joy at how the evening was going quickly faded in a buzz of nervousness. He'd hated dancing his entire life. From enforced lessons by his mother, to school dances where he sat alone by the refreshment table, to his brother's wedding where not even his cousins would dance with him – dancing was a hated curse.

To Rimmer's surprise, Lister stopped pushing him. His nervousness began to melt as Lister sent him a dark, promising stare and begged softly, "Kiss me."

That he did easily and happily, losing himself in the taste of wine on Lister's tongue. He took a step as Lister nudged him, half expecting a bed frame to hit the back of his knees. He pressed his hands onto Lister's shoulders, angling down his back in firm strokes. His hands cupped Lister's arse and he reveled at the flex of muscles beneath his palms, barely noticing as Lister turned them a slow circle. The feel of silk beneath his hands was an incredible turn-on, so used to ratty cotton or synthetic materials covering his lover's body. "Love you in this," he murmured as he squeezed the firm mounds, nibbling on the lip between his teeth.

Lister pulled back to stare into his eyes and countered quietly, "Love you dancing."

Rimmer startled as he realized he was shuffling his feet in time with Lister, despite there being no music.

"Dancing is as easy as kissing, if you have the right partner," Lister murmured before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss, wrapping around his tongue so he couldn't protest.

Rimmer made sounds – eager, hungry, bordering on desperate groans as Lister's hips began a familiar rhythm. Something niggled at the back of his mind; something to do with his evening plans. He pulled back with regret and panted, "Not yet, Listy. There's still dessert."

Lister looked past the point of no return. His voice was shaky as he declared, "Alls I want is you, Arnold."

Rimmer grasped Lister's hand firmly and tugged him toward the door, his eyes alight with mischief. "Dessert's in our quarters," he teased, his voice thick with suggestive innuendo.

Lister's eyebrows rose and he followed silently, the lift to their quarters witnessing some heavy petting and tie untying. They were both disheveled as the lift deposited them on their floor, Rimmer's fingers now gripping Lister's a bit too tightly. He'd never done anything like this, and his nervousness returned as they reached their quarters.

With a quick kiss, he instructed Lister to stay where he was, while he went to the refrigerator. He removed a can of whipped cream and a bowl of strawberries with sliced watermelon and mango, placing them on a tray near the bed with a slight blush. Swallowing thickly, he went to the warmer and retrieved the heated bowl of melted chocolate. Taking a deep breath, he set it on the tray next to the cream and announced nervously, "Dessert is served."

Only then did he look up at his lover, and his breath caught in his throat. Lister's eyes were nearly black, the irises swallowed by his desire. "Is that for you or me?" Lister asked, his voice husky with arousal.

Faintly, Rimmer answered, "Whichever you want, David. I haven't tried – either way." He gasped as Lister crossed the room with inhuman speed, pushing him up against the wall and making a very good attempt at sucking out his tonsils. Fingers tangled in buttons as they both worked frantically to remove their layers of clothing.

"Sodding clothes – need you _naked_ –" Lister growled, and Rimmer heartily concurred. Why had he thought real clothes would be better?

The rasp of silk was loud to Rimmer's ears as his tie was stripped from his neck. He whimpered as his jacket followed, trapping his arms for precious seconds where he couldn't touch Lister.

Lister's jacket hung from one arm, his shirt half undone. With a frustrated growl, Rimmer untucked Lister's shirt from his pants to reach the hot length of flesh inside. A whine caught in his throat as Lister cupped him through his trousers, that hot mouth sucking at his neck.

A tangle of clothing and limbs, they stumbled to their bed, hindered by their own eagerness. It took an eternity to sort out, but finally they were naked except for Rimmer's sock which stubbornly clung to his toes.

He began laughing at the sight, Lister joining in until the edge was taken off their arousal.

Lister stared down at him, his expression infinitely tender. "I love you, Arnold."

His laughter dimmed to a smile. "I love you, David." He tracked Lister's movements as his lover's hand reached for the tray, retrieving a slice of mango. Lister held it to his lips, and with a naughty look, Rimmer licked it from tip to tip, making sure to wet Lister's fingers. He took a bite and juice began to run down Lister's hand, dripping onto his own chest. Rimmer shivered; it was still cold.

Lister's gaze flicked to his chest, then back up to his eyes, shaking his head. "Look what you've done, Rimmer," he intoned with mock disappointment. Lister bent down and licked Rimmer's chest, managing to miss all of the juice.

Rimmer's hand automatically went to Lister's head, fingertips massaging his scalp in encouragement. "Missed a spot," he grunted, trying to direct Lister's mouth where he wanted it. His back arched as he felt more of the cold juice dripping onto his skin.

"Did I? I'm _so_ sorry," Lister murmured into his flesh, the rasp of his lover's tongue against his skin leaving Rimmer gasping. As he saw Lister's hand reaching for the whipped cream, he whimpered and closed his eyes, wondering if he would survive the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I have visuals of what the lads looked like at dinner:  
> [](http://kronette.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/1264/20526)[](http://kronette.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/1264/20262)


End file.
